


The Third Day

by severinne



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Christmas, Cooking, Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-15
Updated: 2011-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-15 02:12:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/severinne/pseuds/severinne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pike won’t be home for Christmas, but that doesn’t mean McCoy should be spending the holiday alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Third Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [candesgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/candesgirl/gifts).



‘I’m so sorry… I know I told you I’d be back on Earth by now but these negotiations have been a disaster.’

The honest regret in Pike’s eyes eroded some of the disappointment still twisting knots into McCoy’s heartstrings. ‘There’s nothing you could’ve done about it, Chris,’ he said firmly, attempting a smile that made his lips ache. ‘It’s enough that you’ll be back in time to ring in the New Year…’ He hesitated, a wary hopelessness quickly resurfacing. ‘Unless… how much of a disaster…?’

‘I’ll be back by then, Leo,’ Pike assured quickly. ‘I promise. Negotiations wrapped up this afternoon so I’ve only got to attend the ceremonial banquet tomorrow then I’ll be heading back with the Pegasus straight away.’

McCoy nodded, but beneath the edge of the desk he toyed anxiously with the ring on his smallest finger. ‘So provided the Pegasus doesn’t receive any new orders from Starfleet…’

‘If they do I’ll pull rank, steal a damn shuttle and fly my own ass back to Earth,’ Pike interrupted vehemently, blue eyes flashing dangerously even across subspace. ‘I’m not letting you go back into space until I’ve had the chance to spread you out and taste every inch of you all over again, got it?’

‘Damn it.’ He ducked his head to hide a too-pleased smile from his lover, whose low chuckle warmed him further.

‘That’s better, beautiful.’ When McCoy dared to look up again, Pike’s expression had sobered again to quiet concern. ‘But until then, what plans do you have for the holiday?’

McCoy shrugged, and cast an evasive glance around their San Francisco apartment, a little too spartan from a recent lack of human habitation. He had been looking forward to having their first Christmas together in this sometimes-home of theirs, had been secretly conjuring visions of home cooked meals and shared bottles of wine on the balcony, things that seemed impossible now that Chris would be far away. ‘Not much.’

‘That better not mean “nothing.”’

‘It might,’ he retorted stubbornly.

‘What about Jim?’

‘What about him?’

Pike raised a stern eyebrow. ‘Leo.’

‘He’s probably got plans of his own,’ McCoy said gruffly, repeating the same line that had been echoing in the back of his mind the last two weeks. ‘The kid’s either running around somewhere with his green-blooded sidekick or working on the fifth girl in a week-long holiday orgy.’ He interrupted his bitter rant with a disgusted shudder. ‘Or both.’

‘Or neither.’ A concerned frown deepened the lines around Pike’s mouth. ‘Jim told me he was going to be alone at Christmas.’

McCoy frowned back, with irritation as much as worry. ‘That’s not what he told me.’

‘I know.’ Pike pressed his lips tightly together in an expression of indecision that McCoy knew well, if seldom. ‘I don’t think he wanted you to know,’ he admitted finally. ‘If I had to guess, he got the idea into his head that he would be in the way of any plans you and I may have made.’

‘Bullshit.’ Despite his vehement denial, a twinge of guilt nagged his conscience; in retrospect, McCoy had to admit that Jim’s silence had been pretty damn conspicuous. ‘And why the hell would he tell you and not me?’ he snapped instead, eyes narrowing at Pike’s visible discomfort. ‘God damn it,’ he muttered into the ensuing silence. ‘Is this some sort of daddy thing you two got going on?’

‘It’s not like that,’ Pike replied defensively, though his gaze still drifted suspiciously away from the camera. ‘He knows you worry too much, that’s all.’

‘And you don’t?’

Pike smirked. ‘Say what you like about any daddy issues between me and Jim, but you’ve got the mother hen part of the equation more than covered.’

McCoy scowled. ‘The hell I do,’ he grumbled.

‘Please. I can hear the clucking from inside your head all the way across the quadrant.’

A blistering protest singed the tip of McCoy’s tongue but the amusement dancing in Pike’s eyes held it in check, as did his grudging realization that _damn it_ , he really was worried now. ‘And what the hell do you suppose I should do about it?’ he asked grimly. ‘Seeing as the brat hasn’t even seen fit to say a damn thing about it to me…’

‘You could invite him over for Christmas, for starters,’ Pike said, slow and obvious. It was a nice idea but still McCoy hesitated.

‘He’s sure to get better offers,’ he said anxiously, ‘once folks realize…’

‘He won’t,’ Pike interrupted firmly. ‘Because folks won’t realize, and frankly that boy would love nothing more than to spend the holiday with his best friend. Especially,’ he added, lips parted on a significant pause before he continued, ‘if the offer included more than a home cooked meal.’

A spark of arousal deep in McCoy’s belly answered the heat smoldering in Pike’s challenging gaze. He licked his lips before daring to answer, needing to be sure. ‘Are you suggesting…’ he cleared his throat, tried again. ‘It’d be a bit different than when it’s been the three of us. Together, I mean.’

‘And you know how much I wish I could be there with the two of you.’ The low rasp of his voice revealed the truth in Pike’s words. ‘I’d give anything to watch you two gorgeous things going at each other the way you do… but knowing it happened regardless would be the next best thing.’

That much, at least, McCoy believed completely; his Chris had always been too self-assured, and frankly too fond of Jim, to harbour any of the insecurities that might have plagued McCoy if their places were reversed. ‘So,’ he said finally, already flushing slightly in anticipation, ‘you want me to invite Jim over to our apartment for Christmas dinner, and seduce him for dessert.’

‘Mmn.’ A feral smile stretched lazily across Pike’s expressive mouth. ‘I could make it an order, if you like.’

As Pike surely intended, the suggestion sent a fresh shudder of lust through his bloodstream, racing straight down to his groin. ‘You bastard,’ he groaned.

‘Is that a “yes, sir” I’m hearing there?’ Pike teased.

 _Fuck, yes, sir._ ‘No,’ he said tightly, fingers digging hard into his own thigh. ‘No, that’s not necessary.’ Not necessary, and a potential bump in the road if Jim ever found out after the fact. ‘I’ll go talk to Jim as soon as we’re done here. Promise.’

‘Good boy.’ Pike’s smile widened as McCoy squirmed slightly in his chair, still caught at the narrow edge of arousal. ‘Wonder what else I can convince you to do for me right now?’

‘Depends,’ he shrugged, though his heart pounded with excitement. ‘How much time have you got?’

‘Time enough to make you beg for it before I let you come,’ Pike said silkily.

McCoy choked back a greedy moan. ‘Like to see you try.’

‘I’ll do more than try.’ Pike narrowed his eyes. ‘Get that shirt off,’ he ordered firmly. ‘And no touching yourself until I say so.’

With a smirk of his own, McCoy reached for the uppermost button of his shirt. ‘Yes, sir.’

  


* * *

When the door to Jim’s temporary quarters at Starfleet Command slid aside to admit him, he was greeted by the uncannily familiar sight of a tired young man hunched over multiple PADDs worth of work, a thermos of coffee parked reliably at his elbow.

McCoy couldn’t repress a newfound surge of guilt, followed immediately by the strange impression that the world had gone topsy-turvy. The sight was familiar only insofar as it was a perfect mimic of McCoy’s own life some three years ago, back when Jim would have been the one returning fresh and flushed from some sexual exploit or another.

‘Bones!’ Jim beamed at him, plucking a pair of old-fashioned reading glasses from his tired eyes. McCoy’s frown deepened. _Glasses_? Seriously?

‘Jim,’ he replied, sauntering closer to peer down at the mess of incomprehensible schematics spread across the desk. ‘Didn’t you get the memo?’ he drawled sardonically. ‘We’re on leave. That’s why you’re on Earth, see.’

‘We’re also on Earth so my girl can get some major refits.’ Jim slapped his palm on the desk next to the piled PADDs. ‘Engines, shields, the works.’

‘I’d have thought that would be Scotty’s line of work.’

Jim shrugged with a sideways little smile. ‘He got an invite back home to Aberdeen for Christmas. Crazy bastard almost wouldn’t leave all this behind, but I finally convinced him to go so long as I kept on top of it.’

‘Think you’re doing that crew delegation thing the wrong way around.’ McCoy crossed his arms and leaned his hip against the edge of the desk, doing his damnedest to block Jim’s view of his work. ‘And what about _your_ plans for Christmas?’

A guilty shadow slipped across Jim’s face. McCoy huffed softly to see Pike’s suspicions confirmed.

‘Right,’ McCoy grunted. ‘Well, I know I can’t compete with the love of your life there,’ he jerked his head at the Enterprise schematics, ‘but you’re just gonna have to stand her up and join me for dinner tomorrow night instead.’

‘Oh.’ Jim slouched back in his chair, chewing hard at his full bottom lip as he mulled over McCoy’s offer. The kid looked pleased despite his efforts to pretend at indifference, until his clever blue eyes shot upward with some sort of solemn understanding. ‘Oh,’ he repeated again. ‘Right. Pike told me the Pegasus was going to be delayed getting back. Sorry, Bones, that really sucks.’

Baffled and mildly affronted, McCoy opened his mouth to object to Jim’s skewed read on the situation, but remained mutely stunned when a bright grin lit up his still-young face.

‘Good thing your best and most brilliant friend ever is around to keep your miserable ass company then, right?’ He jumped to his feet and landed a boisterous slap on McCoy’s stiff shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, no way I’m letting you mope the holidays away! I’ll bring the beer and the bourbon, and maybe we can order in Chinese, just like old times, yeah? And then–’

‘Jim,’ he interrupted sharply, grabbing Jim hard by both shoulders and shaking him out of his childish insanity. If the kid had to pretend he was the one looking after McCoy and not the other way around, fine, he could live with a little white lie for now. But honestly, Chinese take-out for Christmas? ‘We’ll save the re-enactment of our cadet years for another time. We’re officers now, god help us, and I’m cooking, so see about picking up a nice bottle of wine instead of the six-pack of Bud Classic, okay?’

Jim squinted skeptically. ‘Cooking? Really? Isn’t that a lot of effort…?’

‘It’s Christmas, you jackass. My grandmother would die of abject horror if word ever got out that a McCoy hadn’t done the day proper.’ His eye skimmed over Jim’s pajama bottoms and threadbare t-shirt; he put on a deliberate frown to hide his general appreciation of the old shirt’s exceptionally snug fit. ‘And make sure you dress nice, for god’s sake,’ he added gruffly.

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Though Jim tried to match his dour act, McCoy was pleased to see the beginning of a genuine smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. ‘Dress to impress, bring wine. Any other orders, Doctor?’

‘Yeah,’ he threw back, already turning to leave; he had even more preparations to make before tomorrow. ‘Don’t forget that bourbon you mentioned either.’

  


* * *

In a show of uncharacteristic obedience, Jim showed up at the apartment the following afternoon fully equipped with a bottle of Woodford Reserve that nearly made McCoy go teary-eyed as well as a fine chianti that meant Jim had likely asked someone for help.

‘I hope red’s okay,’ he said with a rakish grin as McCoy took the bottles across to the kitchen. ‘You didn’t mention what you were making… not that I’d really know what goes best with what,’ he added with a shrug that revealed some of the genuine uncertainty McCoy had picked up from his initial greeting at the door.

‘Red’s perfect,’ he assured lazily. _Perfect_ was a sentiment he was more than willing to extend further than the wine as he watched Jim shrug off his overcoat and drop it over a nearby chair. The kid had cleaned up damn well, swapping out his usual rugged civvies for snug grey dress slacks and a matching dinner jacket over a blue shirt left tantalizingly unbuttoned at the collar. ‘You did good,’ he added in a softer mumble, diving into the fridge to recover his manners.

‘Beer?’ The smile on Jim’s face brightened as he crossed the living room to take the bottle of Bud Classic that McCoy waved at him. ‘Thought you wanted wine with your fancy dinner.’

‘Dinner’s not until later.’ McCoy opened his own beer and took a long swig. ‘And it’s nothing that fancy,’ he added self-consciously, sparing another peek at the Cornish game hens slowly roasting in the oven. They didn’t need basting yet but he should probably check again in ten or fifteen minutes, just in case…

‘You call that nothing fancy?’ McCoy jumped at Jim’s voice ringing loud right next to his ear. ‘Wow, what are those?’

He slammed the oven door and spun around, startled yet irrationally pleased at how close Jim was standing, scarce inches away. The kid smelled good too, like soap and aftershave and crisp outdoor air fresh off the bay. ‘Just pretend they’re little turkeys,’ he muttered. ‘And go sit the hell down and drink your beer. I’ve got this.’

‘And what is all… _this?_ ’ Jim took the closest seat possible at one of the tall stools on the opposite side of the kitchen island, eyes wide as they took in the fresh vegetables at varying stages of trimming and chopping. ‘Are those real potatoes?’ he asked eagerly, and McCoy smiled despite himself as he swept the peelings into the recycler.

‘Yes, farmboy, real potatoes.’ He took up a sharp knife and settled comfortably into an easy chopping pattern; cooking was so much easier than surgery. ‘Doing garlic mashed to go with the hens. Been a while since I’ve made these, but should still end up better than that powdered puree crap the ship’s mess keeps dumping on our plates.’

He paused in his chopping to take another sip of his beer, and caught Jim staring at him with mute astonishment. McCoy swallowed nervously, frowned.

‘What?’

‘This…’ Jim waved across the small but busy kitchen with his own bottle. ‘You went to a whole lot of trouble here…’

‘Not really.’ McCoy resumed his chopping, focusing on the slice of blade through potato and not the heat crawling up his neck.

‘Bones…’ A question hung in the air, deflated a moment later with Jim’s low sigh. ‘Pike should be here instead of me,’ he said quietly.

‘But he’s not.’ Lingering longing for his lover and concern for his best friend churned together in McCoy’s gut as he set aside his knife and reached for a large pot. ‘And just as well,’ he added blithely, ‘Chris doesn’t even like potatoes.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘I know.’ McCoy scooped the potatoes into the pot and resolutely wiped his hands with a stern look at Jim. ‘I’m just trying to stop you from saying anything foolish.’

Jim blinked, then offered a cautious grin. ‘Would I do that?’ he asked, falsely light.

‘You very damn near did.’ Leaving dinner aside, McCoy circled the island, drawing up alongside Jim’s chair, wondering just how wrong he might have gotten this when Jim couldn’t even turn to look at him. ‘This is for _you_ , Jim. The food, the whole evening… all for you.’

Acting on pure, impulsive need, McCoy offered the only other reassurance he could. He slipped his fingers beneath the collar of Jim’s shirt, drew the silken fabric gently aside, then bowed his head and planted a kiss at the smooth juncture of his shoulder and throat. As always, the brush of lips over that spot sent a satisfying shiver through Jim’s body, but the look on his face as he whirled about to face him was one of pure shock.

‘Bones,’ he breathed, wide eyes searching his face for answers far ahead of the question. ‘I know you wish Chris were here, but…’

‘And you probably wish the same, the way you keep bringing him up.’ McCoy’s faint smile faded at the narrowing of Jim’s eyes. ‘He wishes he were here too,’ he added, more solemn and soft. ‘If it were up to him, there would be three damned hens in that oven… not that we were sure if you had time for us, but we had hoped… well. Point is, he ain’t here, and you are.’

Doubt faded quickly from Jim’s eyes, passing from wistfulness to something more like hope. ‘So all this… you’re sure Chris is okay with this?’ Despite the question, a giddy smile was already playing across Jim’s full lips, setting McCoy’s own anxieties to rest.

‘More than okay,’ he replied with a smirk. ‘Hell, if it were up to him,’ he added, rolling his eyes, ‘we’d have skipped straight to dessert by now. And set up a camera so we could send him video.’

A delighted, devilish grin lit across Jim’s face. ‘Okay, that’s a really hot idea.’ He squirmed his hands around McCoy’s hips, pulling him closer by a firm grip on his ass that McCoy barely managed to escape, despite the best efforts of his libido to rut right up against Jim’s leg.

‘My god, Jim,’ he sputtered, ‘are all you command types reckless exhibitionists?’

Jim winked. ‘Comes with the job description.’

‘Unbelievable.’ He swatted away the hand that had crept back out to dance lightly over the bulge in his pants. ‘And even if I were to agree to such a thing,’ he added warningly, already knowing full well that he had been out-voted on that matter, ‘we’re eating first. Not letting all this food go to waste.’

‘Fine by me.’ Jim hummed as he took a long swig of his beer, lips wrapped lewdly around the neck. ‘Gonna need the energy if there’s three of us in this later.’

 _Three of us._ McCoy dared to return Jim’s anticipatory smile as he returned to his chopping, already wondering what plans Jim might have for New Year’s Eve.


End file.
